Dealer Busts
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: These past few days had hurt, and Larry didn't want to admit just how badly. Spoilers for 'Double Down'.


Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs.

Summary: These past few days had hurt, and Larry didn't want to admit just how badly. Spoilers for 'Double Down'.

Self-pimpage: If any of you happen to think that this or any of my other stories is good enough to be nominated for a _Numb3rs_ fanfic award on livejournal, please say so in a review. (And if you don't, I won't be offended!)

_Dealer Busts_

"Larry. Hey, man." Larry looked up as his name was called. He and Don were sitting across from each other, Don spread out on the porch sofa and Larry slouched in a chair as per usual.

"Charles," he greeted, at the same time that Don asked innocently, "How'd poker go?"

Charlie pulled a face. "After I lost five games in, like, ten minutes, we switched to Spit. He creamed me at that too."

Don laughed.

"Hey Larry," Charlie repeated, and motioned. "Lemme give you a ride home. Dad just went to bed. It's almost midnight."

"I can drive myself," Larry said immediately, rising from the chair. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late."

"Nah, it's no problem, man. Come on." Charlie waved the keys in the air. "You've had a few and I haven't."

Larry frowned at him very slightly. "I've 'had a few' at your house before, Charles, and have always been able to drive myself."

"Yeah. But before, I didn't have a permit."

Larry hesitated for a split second, then relented. "You have a point. Goodnight, Don."

"'night Larry. And hey," Don said, waving a finger, "remember what I said."

Larry made a noncommittal noise and followed Charlie to Alan Eppes' car.

"What were you guys talking about?" Charlie asked cautiously as he slid into the driver's side.

"Mm? Oh, nothing."

"Are you okay?" Charlie frowned but Larry focused on his seatbelt and didn't look up.

"Yes." Charlie shrugged and pulled out of the driveway. Then, "therefore, I can drive myself."

"Larry. It's no big deal. I need the practice." They were already halfway down the street.

"Yes, it is." Larry sighed. "This is what I was afraid of."

"What?"

"Being a gambler doesn't mean I have a drinking problem," Larry said quietly.

"What?" Charlie exclaimed. "I never said it did!"

"And yet you're treating me with proverbial kid gloves. You've never driven me home before."

"I told you, I _could_ never drive before!"

Larry opened his mouth to respond again, then closed it and sighed. The tension in the car drained away. "You're right. I'm sorry, Charles. I'm a bit on edge."

"It's okay." Charlie kept his eyes on the road in front of them. "I understand."

"Actually, I'm afraid you really don't." Larry slid down in his seat, resting his head on the window.

Charlie's defenses went up automatically, but before he could act on them he reminded himself just what Larry had been through recently and thought better of it. "Yeah, I guess I don't," he admitted instead.

The silence that followed was suspicious. Charlie glanced over. There were tears in Larry's eyes, reflecting the streetlights that they drove past. He sniffed.

"Larry…" Charlie said quietly, feeling slightly sick. Then, glancing away, "I think I have some tissues somewhere in here…"

"No, Charles," Larry said quickly, jerking out of his trance. "Keep your eyes on the road, please!"

"Right." There was another pause. "Should I ask what's wrong or is it what I think?"

He could see Larry shake his head out of the corner of his eye. "It's basically what you think. I suppose I'm a little defensive about it. People are so quick to associate gambling with other problems. It can never _just_ be card counting."

"You mean like drinking?"

"Exactly. I deny a connection between the two. Although I suppose there are some valid comparisons, as with any addiction."

It startled Charlie to think of Larry as an addict, although he supposed that that would be the correct term for it.

"I mean," Larry went on. "No alcoholic every truly recovers, so they? That's why it was so difficult to visit that casino with you. Like… well, like putting a rehabbing drunk in a bar. Didn't you feel the energy?"

"I didn't have time to," Charlie said gently. "It was hard to experience the thrill of winning with you at the table."

Larry laughed and Charlie could picture the sheepish look on his face. "Touché, Charles."

Charlie smiled, but the question that had been nagging him for days wouldn't quit and resurfaced at every pause. Finally he inhaled resolutely and asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me Larry? I know you're not proud of it, but… I've known you half my life. For something so… big… to just go unmentioned…"

"Charles," Larry interrupted gently, in the same voice that he used with his denser college students. "You admitted it yourself. You have no experience with this. you couldn't understand this, and… I didn't want to disturb you."

"Larry." Charlie glanced over again, trying not to look as hurt as he felt. "I'd never judge you. I don't now and I wouldn't have before."

"That's nice of you to say, Charles. Nonetheless, it's not easy to communicate such a thing to someone who has never experienced anything like it. Well, actually…" he paused, then said slowly, "when you immersed yourself in your work, years ago when your mother fell ill… it's like that. That sense of comfort. Don said that that was your frame of reference."

"You talked to Don about this?" When there was no answer, he prompted, "Larry?"

"Well," Larry said, uncomfortably. "You know that your brother has struggled in the past. Drinking a bit more than he should…"

Charlie's hands began to shake as soon as the words were out, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sure, he'd known that Don had gotten a bit close to the bottle once or twice over the years, but never… never _that_ close… never close enough to _talk_ about it…

"Don's not an alcoholic," Charlie snapped.

"Of course not, I'm not saying he is," Larry amended instantly, rubbing his forehead pensively. "But he does… understand the pull of an escape. And I'm glad we spoke. He made a very valid point. He said, no matter what the books say, you can't move on if you try to forget. If you try to tell yourself that it wasn't your fault, that you just got sucked in… no, instead you have to admit that you were responsible. You must _force_ yourself to remember until you just accept it one day." Larry spread his hands in an almost religious gesture. "Then you can get on with your life. Maybe getting involved in this case was good for me. still… I don't prefer it."

Charlie's defenses were lowered again, but he could still feel his legs trembling a bit. Larry Fleinhardt, a man he considered a best friend, adopted brother and second father all in one, had just bared a scar from his past for all to see, and that itself had been hard enough to witness. Now a trait of his actual brother had dawning on him with all the gentility of an explosion. Somehow, it had just never occurred to him that could be vulnerable to anything.

"Charles?" Charlie became aware all at once that Larry had sat up straight and was staring at him. "The light is green now." Now he could hear horns honking from behind them.

"Sorry," Charlie muttered, and pressed the gas.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Charles…"

"I wish you'd told me before," Charlie blurted out, then blushed and trained his eyes on the license plate on the car in front of his. "You, and Don…"

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"No." Charlie sighed. "No, I'm sorry. This shouldn't upset me. I've just… I've never actually thought about Don as having a problem with that."

"We are none of us infallible," Larry murmured vaguely and went back to staring out the window. "It's the _next_ left, speaking of which, Charles. This one goes to my old house."

Charlie aborted his turn and twisted the car back to drive straight. It was just habit; he'd been going to that house for years. Habits were hard to break, often too easy to form.

"Larry, why'd you start?"

"Oh." Larry shook his head. "I don't even remember specifically. Like I said, mostly to prove that we could."

"That, I can understand."

"Oh yes. Mathematics and the like are such unrecognized fields. Anytime an opportunity arises to flaunt it, it's hard to resist. We just wanted to… I don't know." Larry's voice was growing hoarse again and Charlie had to resist the urge to take his eyes off the unfamiliar road and look over. "We just wanted to _do_ something. Prove that we could _be_ someone. I was more reckless as a youth. I took chances."

"I never thought of you like that." Charlie smiled. "You're so careful."

"I'm different now. Watching Leonard, what happened to him because of everything… I'm different because of that. He lost…" Larry choked, but went on. "His wife left him. He has a daughter, only a bit younger than you… he's barely seen her since she was a toddler. I can't imagine. I mean, there are many factors as to why I'm still unmarried. But one of the main ones…" he stopped, and Charlie could tell without looking over that he was in tears. "One of the main reasons was seeing Leonard lose his family. If you never have anyone that you become that attached to…"

"You can never lose them like he did," Charlie finished quietly, risking a glance to his right. Larry had both hands over his mouth and his head bent so that Charlie couldn't see his eyes. Charlie reached out and touched his arm. "Hey. It's okay."

"I'm sorry, Charles," Larry murmured, pulling his hands away and sniffing. "I think it's good you're driving me. I'm a bit inebriated." He was trying to account for the display of emotions, Charlie realized, and suddenly he saw how hard it truly was for this man to open up to someone. These past few days had hurt, and Larry didn't want to admit just how badly.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed softly. "You're smashed. Hey, tomorrow's Saturday. Do you want to see a movie or something?" He suddenly, passionately, didn't want to leave Larry alone.

"Actually, thank you, but I have some papers to grade. And… I. I just want to do nothing." Larry rubbed his cheeks, drying the tears on the sides of his hands.

"I understand," Charlie said. And he did.

They looked over at the same time and their eyes locked. Larry smiled. "Thank you. I'll be fine by Monday. I just need the weekend." They were pulling into the parking area of Larry's apartment complex.

"I'll pick you up Sunday night to come get your car."

"Thank you."

"And call if you want to."

Larry nodded. "Perhaps." They hardly ever talked on the phone; so much was lost when they couldn't be face-to-face.

Charlie pulled into a space close to Larry's door and looked over when the car stopped. A slightly awkward silence coalesced and Charlie tried to joke, "Well, if you want to talk about any other skeletons in the closet…" And Larry did laugh, but not as Charlie had intended; it was without humor, dark and short.

"Yes. I do have quite a few." He opened the car door and swung his legs out. With his back partially to Charlie, he added, "I'll tell you someday, Charles, I promise. Just not now." Then he stood, closed the door, and crossed the tiny lawn to his front steps without looking back.


End file.
